Naked
by Chinsky
Summary: -And with that, they walked into the graveyard known as Midtown High together, Zack’s grin still on his face, and Marta, pretending (as usual) that she didn’t care about anything.-


**Naked** by CHINSKY

A/N: Well, yeah, I didn't die. I'm very much alive and reviewing; it's just the writing scene that's been going slowly these past few months. Wait, scratch that—I write as often as hell, I just never have any time to transfer all my crap written in my notebooks to the computer. Welp—this fanfic is different, I think. I know that hardly anything is explained at the beginning—I want it that way. I'm also aware there is hardly any detail—I want it that way too. I really want this to be a dialogue-fic, compared to a detail/imagery-fic. Am I making any sense? Hopefully. So pay attention to the dialogue, mm'kay kids?

Also, I won't tell you where I got the idea for this because you'd kill me. Maybe in later chapters.

Onwards.

Disclaimer: Nothing. Do I really need to add these? Are they like…a rule or something?

$(&(&#

Under what started as the influence of Dewey Finn, and ended with her own individuality, Marta Hale became quite the reserved punk rocker over the years. Starting with her original Blondie obsession in the fifth grade, rock music slowly took over her life. By sixth grade, she started straightening her long, wavy, blonde hair everyday, wearing thick black eyeliner and eventually, accomplished a feat that only very few Horace Green Elementary School students ever attempted, let alone succeeded in.

She transferred to public school.

It was after much consideration, and much thinking that she came to this conclusion, and it was also after she went through the most depressing month of her young teenage life. It sucked, yeah, and she needed to get out. So…being as opinionated and stubborn as she was, she saw no other option. She talked to her parents, and voila. Public school on a platter.

Though, she wasn't alone. The other reserved punk rocker of their—former—band came with her, ado to much convincing.

Zack Mooneyham.

So, together, this pair of best friends stood on the steps of Horace Green's biggest rival school (Midtown High--ugh) and waited for their homeroom bell to ring.

"Look at this," Marta said, as she motioned to her left, "not even first period and we already see posers."

The group next to them was that exact definition. Marta always was viciously anti-poser. They drove her insane. Zack, on the other hand, found this somewhat immature, and it did not bother him as much. He could read Marta like no other person, touching on her emotions when she fought her hardest to avoid them.

It bugged the _hell_ out of her.

"You're just nervous," he replied.

She shot him a scathing look but said nothing in return. He smirked in victory, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

He gave her a look. "Come on now Marta; let's not confuse your size with your age."

"HEY!" She exclaimed, and whammed a fisted hand into his shoulder.

He rubbed his shoulder and shoved her back. "Geez. I was kidding."

"Whatever," she spat out. She hated being called short or immature, and Zack knew it.

She sighed. It was why he tortured her so much.

Zack shrugged and looked the other way. Marta took this quick moment to let her eyes wander where they wanted to, briefing over Zack. He looked good, but Marta came to realize that this wasn't out of the ordinary.

She'd come to realize lots of things lately.

Suddenly, he let out a low whistle. Marta's head snapped back up, her cheeks turning the slightest tinge of red, but Zack didn't notice.

"What?" she asked.

"Her," he said, and motioned discreetly with his thumb to a girl in the parking lot.

Marta glanced over and was immediately disgusted, even though she barely looked at the girl. "Ugh. Come on Zack. You can do way better."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zack answered a little too quickly.

"It _means_," Marta emphasized, "that she's not even pretty, and her favorite band is probably Simple Plan or something equally as childish."

He sighed. "Fine. What about her?"

She looked. "I could beat her up."

"No way!"

"Yes way. Do you see those horrid calves?"

His eyes skimmed her body. "What calves?"

"Exactly."

"Jesus Marta. What about her?"

"Too skinny," she said, and suddenly had a fascination with inspecting her fingernails.

He tried again. "Her?"

"Too tall. Plus she needs an eyebrow waxing."

"Do _you_ wax your eyebrows?"

"No."

"Then what the—"

"She's still too tall," she replied, yanking one large cuticle from her thumb with her teeth.

"You're a freak Marta," Zack backfired.

Marta gasped with pleasure. "_Thank_ you Zackary! That's the nicest compliment you've given me all day." She averted her gaze back to her sore thumb. "Hey look, I'm bleeding."

She brought her thumb back to her teeth to bite it again, but Zack ripped her hand away from her mouth and held it tightly in his own to stop her. His hands were warm.

"You're too cynical for your own good."

She yanked her hand back. "Which is why you're my best friend," she replied nastily, with a glare.

Zack clenched his teeth in fury and slapped her on the arm. She didn't yelp, just rubbed her arm where it was turning red. She raised a single eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe in hitting girls."

"For you, I'll make an exception." This was a rather cruel thing to say, and Marta was about to respond with something equally as smarty when Zack cut her off before she could speak. "Hey, what about that girl?"

This whole 'no-uniforms' deal was a whole new experience for Zack.

"She'd cheat on you," she answered spitefully.

"You're such a bitch," he said, even though he didn't really mean it.

"And you're an asshole," she said back, even though she didn't really mean it either.

Suddenly, the bell rang. Marta hopped up from the step she'd been sitting on. "Let's go Zack. Meet you here after 9th period?"

Despite their argument, he grinned. "You're such a loser, Marta."

She just shrugged. "Don't be late. You're walking me home."

And with that, they walked into the graveyard known as Midtown High together, Zack's grin still on his face, and Marta, pretending (as usual) that she didn't care about anything.

#$&(#

Marta sat alone on the steps, waiting for Zack to show up. It figured that he'd be late. If you gave him too much freedom, he'd abuse it. Marta shook her head to herself and picked at her fingernails lazily. From behind her, she heard a giggle.

"Oh _Zackary_…" a girl said, whose name was probably Angelica or Clarissa or Samantha-Jo-Marie. Marta whipped around and found she was staring at a girl whose skirt was too short and shirt was too low. Marta groaned. Zack was standing next to the girl, beaming like a madman.

It's a shame flirting couldn't be considered a chronic disease and treated with a healthy dose of medication with horrid, horrid side effects.

Marta felt sick to her stomach, but she plastered a grin on her face anyways and stood up. It was big, and fake, but no one could tell, right?

Wrong.

Zack raised an eyebrow at her, after noticing her stand up. "Jeez Marta, you look like you just broke my guitar."

The girl squealed wildly. "OOOH! You play guitar!"

"You bet," Zack flashed his award winning smile. "Since I was 7."

"THATISSOCOOL! Like, I _totally_ can't believe you play!"

"Why?" Marta interrupted, the fake grin on her face now replaced with an evil smirk.

"What?" The girl asked, obviously extremely confused.

"Why can't you believe it?"

Zack chuckled nervously. "Stop being a dick, Marta," he said through clenched teeth.

"No, that's your job," she replied bitterly, as she grabbed her bag and took off down the steps.

#$&(#

She walked fast, but within minutes she felt Zack walking next to her. She slowed her pace, but just a little.

"Jesus, Marta!" He exclaimed angrily.

"Oh, ME! God Zack, you're such a…a…a…" She trailed off when she saw the look of intense fury in Zack's eyes.

"Seriously, I suppose she was too pretty, or too nice, or too stupid, or too annoying for me, right? Not good enough for me, is that it? Don't you think that's my choice?"

Marta opened and closed her mouth a few times, starting sentences and then abandoning them. Angrily, she muttered, "She stuffed her bra."

Zack was ready to yell something cruel back, but he stopped, "Really?"

Marta just nodded. "And sure it's your choice, but do you really always have to choose girls whose IQ's are only about as high as their bra sizes?"

"Oh, come on Marta. As opposed to…what, exactly?"

She shrugged. "Anyone'd be better than those know-nothing twits you chase around after constantly," she replied, quickly and while avoiding eye contact. And when Zack caught her gaze, he was surprised. '_God forbid…is Marta…_jealous_?'_, he was about to ask. But before he could do so, she turned on one heel and walked away again. So, hurrying after her, all he said was, "Whatever, Marta."

"Yeah. Whatever. How was school?"

He chuckled again. "You really are a freak, you know."

She shoved him, but otherwise ignored the comment. "Do you have Spanish with Robin? God…she's a moron, isn't she?"

Zack just laughed. She looked at him, agitated. "Why do you keep laughing at me?"

"_You're_ a moron, Marta."

"And you're a dickhead."

"And you love me for it."

She thought about this. "Ew. Pervert."

"Um…" Zack was at a loss. "Pedophile?"

"_What_?" A pause. "God, you're weird."

"Thanks, Marta. Thanks." Zack chuckled slightly.

And again, for the second time that day…they walked away, Zack's signature grin once again on his face, and Marta pretending (as usual) like she didn't care about anything.

'Anything' can later be translated into, 'the boy standing beside her'.

&#$(&#

They were at Marta's house.

"I'm bored. Wan'na come in?" Marta asked.

Zack licked his lips playfully. "Mmm, despite how utterly promising that sounds, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline the offer."

She shoved him. Again. "God, having your hormones kick in is a real pain in the ass."

"Oh yeah?" Zack countered. "Well, what about _your_ hormones?"

Marta raised her eyebrows. "_My_ hormones?" She smirked. "Well… _my_ hormones cause me to either, a), wear a diaper and feel like I've wet my pants, or b), shove a small piece of cotton way up my—"

Zack covered his ears with his hands incredibly quickly. "GAH! Too much information, Marta!"

"Hey, well, you asked."

"Yeah, whatever." A pause.

Marta bit her lip. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why do you have to decline?"

"…I have band practice," Zack answered slowly.

Marta swelled with anger. "You mean, that little piece of—"

"Marta, shut up."

"No, Zack, I won't! How the hell could you join a band after School of Rock! And a really sucky one at that—"

Zack cut her off. "Marta, I don't want to talk about this now. And it is NOT as sucky as—"

In the next moment, she made him thank heavens that looks couldn't kill. "**Don't** finish that sentence."

He sighed, and glowered at her. "Fine, you want to know how?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, you did." He spoke slowly. "I joined because I'm showing our former band mates—a.k.a., our former _friends_," he raised his eyebrows for emphasis here, "that I don't care about them. At all." He paused for a second. "And it's the same reason I transferred to public school."

Marta, who had been quiet through Zack's whole monologue, grew intense with rage in .4 seconds flat. "OH! And I'm sure that your best friend asked you had NOTHING to do with it!"

Zack closed his eyes tightly. "Marta, don't make this about you—"

"ME? Oh, of course not Zackary, Lord knows it's always about YOU." She opened the door, but before storming inside, she had one last thing to say.

"Oh, and remember, my friend. The proper term for what you're doing is called sticking it to The Man." Zack's eyebrows disappeared up into his bangs. "Yeah, sound familiar?" she continued. "That was the motto of our LAST band. The one you're trying to hard to forget about because it meant so much to you."

And with that, she slammed the door in his face.


End file.
